


Honeycombs

by suna_scribbles



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Arguing, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, part of the roeverse, yaknow just the usual garbage for these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: A piece written for @ watermeloneverything on tumblr. Some fluff taking place between chapters 9 and 10 of Reise Ohne Ende.
Relationships: Blitzwing/Bumblebee
Comments: 7
Kudos: 141





	Honeycombs

“Blitzwing.”

_Just ignore him,_ Blitzwing thought, biting back an exhausted sigh. _He’ll shut up eventually._

“Blitzwing. Blitzbrain. Blitzy-Blitzy-Blitzwing.”

Bumblebee’s pedes splattered loudly against the ground as he began to stomp, his frustration worn on his sleeve as always. Blitzwing tried to ignore him, shooting him an irritated glance, trying to silently convey his desire for Bumblebee to _shut up_ for once.

Unfortunately, whether the minibot noticed the subtle hint or not, he didn’t bother responding. “Blitzwing,” he groaned, pounding his pedes against the soft ground. “ _Blitzwing._ Blitzwing, Blitzwing, Blitzwing, Blitz—”

Blitzwing’s irritation surged to the surface before he could tamp it down, and he bared his dentae down, optics narrowed to slits. “ _What?_ ” he spat. “What do you _want?_ ”

Unfazed, Bumblebee cracked a wide smile, a small spring evident in his step. “I’m bored,” he said simply, his blue optics shining.

Blitzwing growled. “No _slag,_ ” he said. “How is that _my_ problem?”

“I wanna play a game,” Bumblebee whined. “But _not_ charades. You’re literally the worst mech to play charades with. You can’t just pretend to be trees in every round, it’s unfair! Especially when it’s a _specific_ tree, that’s _slag_ and you know it.”

Blitzwing snickered, his irritation bleeding away for a moment. “Said the loser,” he said snidely.

“Shut up.” Bumblebee rolled his optics overdramatically, though the thin glimmer of a smile was impossible to miss. “So are we playing a game or not?”

Blitzwing sighed, shaking his helm, an icy calm washing over his processor. “If it keeps you quieter, then fine,” he said. “What game _this_ time?”

Bumblebee scratched his chin thoughtfully, walking backwards. “How about the singing game?”

“No.”

“It’s fun, though! One of us starts singing, and then the next one has to sing a different song using the last lyrics, and then—”

“No. That sounds too complicated. And I don’t sing.”

Bumblebee huffed. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Twenty questions?”

“I thought you didn’t like guessing games,” Blitzwing said. 

“It’s better than walking in complete silence! Is that a yes or a no?”

“Fine. I’ll go first.”

Bumblebee stopped walking for a moment, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you a tree?” he said, narrowing his optics.

A nasty, wide grin split Blitzwing’s face in half. “Yes, but _which_ tree am I?”

Bumblebee groaned loudly, dropping his helm into his hands and spinning away. “Nevermind,” he mumbled. “Different game, then. How about ‘fortunately, unfortunately?’”

“What?”

“You’ve never heard of it?”

“Obviously not.”

Bumblebee turned back around, his optics lighting up. “Okay, so one of us names a fortunate situation. Then the next one says something unfortunate about the first situation. Then we keep going back and forth until someone screws up.”

Blitzwing wasn’t sure about how fun a game like that could be, but Bumblebee had a point—it _was_ better than doing nothing. Keeping his processor engaged with an idiotic game was better than focusing endlessly on how desperately he wanted fuel, and he hoped it might do the same for Bumblebee.

Maybe all of this obnoxious chatter was a coping mechanism of some sort, Blitzwing surmised. Annoying as it was, at least it kept the minibot sane.

“Alright, then,” Blitzwing said, forcing himself not to mimic the smile that spread across Bumblebee’s features. “Who goes first?”

“You went first at charades, so I will,” Bumblebee said brightly, stumbling over a rock, temporarily breaking his steady backward stride. “Fortunately, I got a puppy.”

“Unfortunately, it died after two days,” Blitzwing said dryly.

Bumblebee blinked. “Okay, jeez,” he said. “Fortunately, it came back to life as a zombie puppy.”

“Unfortunately, it now wants to consume your processor.”

“Fortunately, I don’t have one!”

Blitzwing couldn’t help but snicker at that. “Unfortunately, the puppy is willing to settle for your legs.”

“Fortunately, my legs regrow as soon as they are eaten.”

“Unfortunately, they regrow an inch shorter every time.”

“Is that a short joke? Frag off. Fortunately, I have stilts at home.”

“Unfortunately, you aren’t _at_ home, you’re in the woods.”

“Fortunately, I can steal _your_ legs!”

“Unfortunately, one of them doesn’t _work._ ”

Bumblebee covered his mouth, tripping lightly over another rock as they ascended a small hill. “Fortunately, I have magic powers that can fix them.”

“Unfortunately, you were too stupid to mention that before, and now I am going to kill you for it,” Blitzwing said with a roll of the optics.

“Fortunately,” Bumblebee laughed, “I’ll _also_ come back as a zombie if you try!”

“So I’m stuck with you no matter what?” Blitzwing said. “That _is_ quite unfortunate.”

“Oh, hush up,” Bumblebee retorted. “You lose. That’s one point for me, zilch for Blitzwing. Isn’t this f—”

Bumblebee suddenly yelped, his frame pitching backwards at a strangely sharp angle, much more steep than the mild hill would have led on. Before Blitzwing was aware of what he was doing, he kicked forward on his good leg and launched toward the minibot, snatching the small yellow frame in his servos and gripping as tightly as he could.

It took a moment for him to realize that there was nothing underneath him, and by the time he became aware of it, he was tumbling roughly down the other side of the hill.

Fortunately, the fall wasn’t long—the tumble lasted but a few seconds, Blitzwing’s frame carving deep welts in the cold mud as he collided with it over and over again, his servos wrapped protectively around Bumblebee’s much more delicate frame. With a final resonating _thump,_ Blitzwing landed awkwardly on flat ground, one wing screeching and bending as it sliced through the ground and uprooted a collection of ferns and grasses.

Ignoring the new collection of aches and pains springing up across Blitzwing’s frame, he glanced down at Bumblebee, his spark doing a quick nosedive as he realized how close Bumblebee’s face was to his own.

“Are you alright?” Blitzwing asked, brushing mud gently from one of Bumblebee’s horns.

Bumblebee stared up at Blitzwing with a slight slack in his jaw, optics wide and unreadable. Blitzwing stared back, trying to discern why his pupils had suddenly dilated so much, why the tiny gears were twisting so much yet keeping his gaze so still. 

Blitzwing had never noticed it before, but the soft blue of Bumblebee’s optics emanated from deep within the glass spheres, a net of blazing honeycomb shapes glistening behind the aperture blades. Even those seemed to form yet another hexagon—was Bumblebee’s name a coincidence? Surely no one had examined his optics this closely before.

But as abruptly as the moment began, it ended once again. Bumblebee blinked, his faceplates glowing as heat surged into the capacitors, narrowing his optics and smacking his hands rapidly against Blitzwing’s chest.

“I’m _fine,_ moron!” he yelled, squirming in Blitzwing’s grip. “Get _off_ me! What's the matter with you, weirdo? It was just a little hill!”

Blitzwing scowled, boiling anger rushing through his lines. “Well, _excuse me_ for not wanting you to break your stupid processor open,” he spat, dropping Bumblebee’s frame and folding his arms over his chest.

“I was _fine_ before you—before—before you jumped at me!” Bumblebee snapped, brushing specks of mud from his frame.

“I _jumped_ because you were _falling!_ ” Blitzwing yelled.

“Was _not!_ ”

“ _Yes, you were!_ ” 

Bumblebee turned forcefully on his heel, trudging in the direction they’d been walking, every step ripe with badly-hidden sulking. “Whatever,” he said, barely audible. “Let’s keep going.”

Blitzwing rolled his optics and stood up, sloughing mud from his plating and temporarily mourning the loss of even more paint. “Whiny little protoform,” he grumbled. 

“Shut _up!_ I’m not _whining!_ And I’m not a protoform!”

“You’re not much _taller_ than one.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

* * *

The day dragged by in a flurry of arguments and insults, each snub growing more and more creative and incomprehensible. Bumblebee wasn’t even sure what an “axe-headed lint licker” was, but Blitzwing had said it with such hostile zeal that Bumblebee could only assume it was somehow derogatory.

Both of their voices were scratchy and raw by the time they settled in for the evening, and they shared a silent, mutual agreement to put their fight on hold until the morning. Bumblebee fell over as soon as they were safely nestled in a grove of trees, massaging his aching helm.

“We made it pretty far today,” he noted, his voice rusty and tired.

Blitzwing let out a low, deep rumble. “We did,” he said. 

Bumblebee rolled onto his back, peering at the stars through the canopy of cascading brown leaves. His legs ached and soreness was slowly creeping back into his arm, perpetuated by the icy breeze that whispered through the forest, but Bumblebee forgot about the pain completely when he felt Blitzwing settle next to him, his massive frame blocking the wind almost immediately as he lay down.

“Is your leg doing okay?” Bumblebee asked quietly. “I think we walked more than usual, so if you wanna take it slow tomorrow, that’s—”

“My leg is fine,” Blitzwing interrupted. “Get some rest. If we can keep a pace similar to the one we held today, we will be back in Detroit before we know it.”

Bumblebee grunted a quiet agreement, shuffling an arm under his helm as a makeshift pillow. “M’kay,” he murmured. 

The wind was noisier than normal tonight—perhaps because they were in such a tight grove of trees, surrounded on all sides by different volumes of gentle susurration. It was loud, but strangely peaceful nonetheless. Bumblebee drew a deep pull of cool air into his vents and exhaled slowly, enjoying the mix of mechanical and natural.

_Whirr._ “Why is your name ‘Bumblebee?’”

Bumblebee’s optics opened, and he craned his neck to look at Blitzwing, whose coal-colored face was wearing an oddly dreamy grin rather than the usual malicious one.

“What?”

“Did I stutter, silly goose?”

“No, I just—” Bumblebee frowned, watching as Blitzwing’s lids drifted down sleepily, his smile still unnervingly gentle. “Why are you asking me that? That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?”

“Is it because of the honeycombs in your little eyeballs?” Blitzwing mused tiredly.

Bumblebee cocked his helm, his spark fluttering strangely. “Because of the _what?_ ”

“You’ve got itty bitty glowy honeycombs in your optics,” Blitzwing said. “Didn’t you know?”

“N-no,” Bumblebee said, going temporarily cross-eyed as though to try and see. “I haven’t really looked.”

“Well, you do,” Blitzwing hummed. “Little honeycombs in a little Bee’s eyeballs. Itty bitty bees in your optics. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.”

Bumblebee’s faceplates suddenly felt warm, though he wasn’t sure why. He lowered his helm quickly and fidgeted into a comfortable position, trying not to wish that he had a mirror. Blitzwing was probably just being a weirdo like usual—nothing to get all flustered about.

“Go to sleep, loser,” Bumblebee mumbled.

Judging by the gentle _whirr_ of spinning faceplates, Blitzwing had already obliged.


End file.
